


know i’m alone if i’m with or without you

by tsunderestorm



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Background SuzaLulu, M/M, Nonbinary Lelouch vi Britannia, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 07:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14612592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Lelouch copes with the oppressive loneliness of his impending death with Jeremiah.





	know i’m alone if i’m with or without you

**Author's Note:**

> “’Cause you’re just damage control / For a walking corpse like me”
> 
> Lelouch is depicted as afab and with he/his pronouns. This piece uses the term “cunt”.

“Come to me, Lord Jeremiah,” Lelouch beckons, un-crossing his legs and spreading them. His cunt is so wet it aches and every movement that brushes his panties against it is making him shudder. He has his hands balled into fists on the arms of his chair, fighting every instinct not to squirm...best to save some dignity, yet, even when it’s been weeks since he’s gotten off and release is so close he can taste it.

Jeremiah does as he’s bidden, crossing the room in long strides and dropping smoothly to one knee, safely at a respectable distance from the emperor’s throne. He offers the customary bow before looking up at Lelouch, organic eye bright as he awaits orders, obedient and ever-loyal. Any reservations Lelouch may have harbored in regard to asking him for what he has in mind vanish out the window with the barest hint of a smirk lifting the corner of his lips. God, how Lelouch had hated what Jeremiah had stood for one year ago, despised the blind loyalty the man was so proud of, loyalty he now owns.

“Majesty?” Jeremiah asks it slowly, curious but not demanding, confident that Lelouch will provide an answer and content to wait for an order.

“I want a show of your devotion.” Lelouch says, voice wavering just slightly. It’s only half a lie (not that he owes Jeremiah any shred of truth) but it feels good, somehow, to be halfway honest. Hordes of soldiers, he can command. Rows of geassed Britannian slaves, he can control...but when it came to a proposition of his nature, he’s finding himself alarmingly out of his element. Still, he persists. Lifting his hand from the armrest and trailing fingers up his thigh, watching the way Jeremiah’s eye follows the motion, he elaborates. “A testament, if you will, to how deep it goes.”

Jeremiah’s brow arches as the smirk stretches across his face. _Good_ , Lelouch thinks, _he knows what’s being offered._ He isn’t surprised that Jeremiah Gottwald is clearly no stranger to this type of display. He isn’t surprised at all that his confident strut had an extra swagger to it as he’d crossed the room, like he’d already known why Lelouch had summoned him here.

“My emperor requests proof of my loyalty?” Jeremiah asks, playing Lelouch’s game. Lelouch responds by touching himself through his pants, brushing over the heat of his cunt through the fabric and shuddering as his hips buck of their own accord. Jeremiah responds in turn, rising to his feet and giving his dick a greedy squeeze, drawing attention to the already half-hard line of it. Apparently, _that_ wasn’t a casualty of his injuries, or maybe they’ve rebuilt it, because it’s a noticeable bulge down the leg of his pants. If he were in a different mood, he’d tell him that he’s presumptuous, would scold and humiliate him and maybe even have him kneel as he nudged the toe of his boot along that rigid flesh...but that’s not why he’s called Jeremiah here. His needs are a bit less demanding today, a bit smoother around the edges...he thinks Jeremiah will be willing just the same.

Jeremiah strides closer to the throne and kneels once more, settling in between Lelouch’s spread legs. Lelouch wonders if Jeremiah can smell him: the musky tang of his cunt and the scent of his perfumed bath oil. Briefly he wonders if he’s right in noticing the sidelong glances Jeremiah gives him on a daily basis and he starts to second guess himself in a way that he doesn’t normally, suddenly wondering if the longing he’s seen in the man’s face is real, if it’s for him or his long-dead mother.

Jeremiah grasps Lelouch’s ankle and lifts his foot from the floor, resting the ball of it on his muscular thigh. Gently, he tugs off his emperor’s boot and sets it aside, letting the hard sole of it fall to the polished floor and the soft leather pool atop it. He peels off his sock with a gentleness Lelouch never would have expected from him, a sort of reverence he would have previously considered unknown to an assassin with blades in his wrists. He lifts Lelouch’s foot to his lips, presses a kiss to the side of it, another to the inside of his ankle just below of hem of his pants, all the while closing his eye like it’s an _experience._  

When the whole rest of the world hates him, when even Suzaku doesn’t even want to be near him, to be treated like this is dizzying. His cheeks flush so hot it almost burns, undoubtedly pink and he considers asking Jeremiah to stop, dear _god_ stop making such a _show_ of it, but the twinge he feels between his legs as he watches Jeremiah kiss up his clothed calf makes him hesitate. This is what he summoned him for, he reminds himself. This is what he wanted.

“My emperor,” Jeremiah murmurs, a low rumble as his eye re-opens slowly, surveying the sight of Lelouch on his throne above him with a satisfied smile. He repeats the procedure for the other foot: lifting his foot, discarding his boot and sock, pressing the kisses to soft skin. He runs his hand up Lelouch’s skinny thighs until he’s pushing the belt and its draped fabric up and away, nimble fingers focused on undoing the gold buttons of his pants. All the while his gaze never leaves him, and Lelouch lifts his hips to allow Jeremiah access to pull the pants down and off, leaving him slouched in the throne with only the tails of his cloak concealing the excitement between his legs.

He thinks about saying something, _anything_ : some comment in response, some repetition of Jeremiah’s title the way he’d used his own, a raunchy encouragement, _something..._ but he doesn’t. It doesn’t feel right, somehow, like any unnecessary words might ruin the bubble that he and his most unexpected servant have built around themselves.

“Your Majesty,” Jeremiah repeats as he leans forward and presses his face between Lelouch’s legs, breathing in the smell of him now that there’s no material in the way. “Proving my loyalty is a _privilege_.”

He lifts his emperor’s leg over the arm of the throne and Lelouch hisses as cold air hits his hot, slick folds, unkindly bared to the nighttime chill of the empty hall and it makes him shudder. Jeremiah soothes it with his warm breath, pressing wet kisses to the insides of his thighs first before he licks up his slit. The first touch makes him jump, Jeremiah’s mouth hot and eager as his tongue darts over his clit, lips fastening around the hard little bud and Lelouch thinks _how dare he_ , dragging this out when he’s supposed to be _proving_ himself not _teasing_ him - but then Jeremiah sucks sharply and the motion makes Lelouch’s breath hitch. Hips bucking, he pants as Jeremiah laughs against his skin, still so damnably cocky even when he’s on his knees swearing fealty. 

Lelouch lets himself slide down more in his chair (his _throne_ , he reminds himself as he presses his hips up to rub himself against Jeremiah’s face, he’s doing this on the throne of Britannia and the only thing that would make his dead father angrier would be if Suzaku were kneeling in front of him) and sinks into the feeling of it. Jeremiah’s tongue is teasing his clit as he presses his fingers inside his slick hole, moaning when he pulls back panting only to dive back in, thrusting his tongue inside as Lelouch squirms against him. Jeremiah’s hand curls under Lelouch’s thigh perched on the throne’s edge, holding it in place as he shakes, keeping him spread, keeping him exposed and Lelouch has half a mind to tell him to stop, it’s too good.

“Is my emperor satisfied with my loyalty?” Jeremiah asks, the air of his breath chilling the spit his kisses have left.

“Not nearly,” Lelouch says, reaching out a hand to curl into Jeremiah’s hair as he pushes his face down, gaining some confidence from the way Jeremiah is breathing raggedly, the way he can look down and see that his dick is now absolutely straining against the confines of his pants. “I may doubt it just a bit.”

He can feel his breath hitching, embarrassing as that is to admit. Jeremiah’s tongue is relentless, licking across his quivering opening, darting back and forth across his clit. The man is _hungry_ for it, the wet sounds of his mouth as he tastes his emperor’s offering echoing through the throne room, obscene slurps and smacking sounds as he delights in it. Lelouch’s nails scrape across Jeremiah’s scalp as he scrambles, grinding his cunt against his face and Jeremiah, god _damn_ him, points his tongue and thrusts it inside, licking at him from the inside and making him yank _hard_ on his hair. He hates how much his thighs are quivering, hates the way they’re clutched tightly around Jeremiah’s head, anything to keep his face between his legs and help him chase the pleasure he’s needed, the release he’s been craving.

“Jere...miah, please!” Lelouch gasps, his other hand scraping the carved handles of the throne as Jeremiah sucks at him, his efforts making obscene sounds as he works. He’s got his eye closed as his arms wrap around Lelouch’s skinny thighs, reaching under his ass to pull him forward as he tastes him and Lelouch watches him intently, half-drunk on the way Jeremiah acts like he’s been waiting a lifetime to do this. When he pulls back with a wet sound, Lelouch is panting and he’s glaring daggers at him, bare feet on Jeremiah’s legs as his thighs cradle his head, relaxing enough to see the man’s face so he has an opportunity to answer when Lelouch demands an explanation. 

“Lelouch,” his name is perfectly enunciated, a low rumble in Jeremiah’s rich, aristocratic voice. “What do you need, my liege?”

Lelouch thinks about it for a second. He takes in the sight of Jeremiah knelt before him, mouth shiny with his slick, pupil blown wide and his dick looking like it could bust out of his neatly pressed pants, and answers: “I need to come.”

Jeremiah rises to his feet in seconds, lifting him off the throne and around his waist, hands cradling his ass to hold him there. Lelouch is shocked, eyes wide and scared for a moment at the change in position but the half-blind lust wins out in the end and he wraps his arms around Jeremiah’s shoulders, hands crossed at the wrist out behind, comfortable. He’s hungry enough for the affection of a kiss, but he still wrinkles his nose when Jeremiah leans in and he can taste himself on the man’s lips and tongue, tangy and sharp. Jeremiah moans as his tongue probes in to Lelouch’s mouth, hot and wet and thick and leaving him positively breathless.

“Majesty,” Jeremiah says when the kiss breaks, shuddering as he drags his lips down Lelouch’s neck, kissing the smooth skin that’s become exposed as his collar is unbuttoned. His fingers dig into Lelouch’s ass as he tugs him closer and Lelouch can feel the hard press of his cock against him, almost cries out from how badly he wants to touch him, feel him. God, he’s so desperate it’s pathetic, but Jeremiah is undeniably hard, undeniably _human_ despite his cybernetics and warm to the touch in a way that makes Lelouch’s skin prickle.

“Am I doing this, Lelouch?” Jeremiah asks, low and secretive even though no one would dare enter the throne room unbidden. “Does my Majesty need me?”

 _Yes, you idiot,_ Lelouch thinks. He knows Jeremiah can feel him, hot and needy against his belly with with his legs spread wide, so _ready_ for it. He feels like he’s so hard and sensitive even the barest drag of Jeremiah’s fingers across his clit could drive him over the edge and he wants _more,_ wants Jeremiah _inside_ because as he’s approaching the end all he wants is some kind of love even if it’s obsessive. He doesn’t draw it out, doesn’t ask or order or _anything_ , just locks his violet eyes concealing their hidden geass with Jeremiah’s single orange one and nods almost imperceptibly.

Jeremiah shifts Lelouch’s slight weight so he can reach between them, popping the button on his pants and drawing his cock out. Lelouch gasps at the first press of it against his cunt, knows he’s leaving slick all across the front of Jeremiah’s pants in an effort to grind himself against it (knows Jeremiah will wear the mess _proudly_ ) and he wants more, wants the closeness, the fullness of Jeremiah’s rigid length inside of him. He reaches into his cloak, into the hidden pocket that usually holds his phone and withdraws a single wrapped condom, long fingers tucking it like a secret note passed in a school hallway against Jeremiah’s waiting palm.

His dick sheathed in the condom, Jeremiah lowers Lelouch onto it with a certain slowness, savoring the feel of the slick, tight heat engulfing him and looking at him with a sort of reverence. It’s slow, _too slow_ , and Lelouch lets out a low, ragged sound as Jeremiah spreads him. Physical pursuits have never been his strong point, and even the endeavor of accommodating Jeremiah’s considerable girth is an effort and he’s panting as he leans forward to rest his forehead against Jeremiah’s, sweat trickling down his thin back beneath his cloak.

Jeremiah must know what he wants and needs, a connection and not a power play, feeling rather than words (so unlike their usual selves) so he doesn’t talk much. Instead, he just moves him easily setting a steady pace thrusting up into him as he murmurs _my emperor_ into his neck, alternates it with the personal _Lelouch_. Lelouch shudders every time he’s lifted and lowered back down, aching to get a hand between them and between his legs, to get his fingers working in tandem with Jeremiah’s thrusts. Already he feels like he’s been hovering on a precipice for far too long, so close to coming yet so _far._  

He can feel Jeremiah’s hands on his ass, fingers digging into the meat of too-hot skin, trailing into the cleft. He thinks about asking him to slip his fingers inside, to feel him there too, uncomfortably full, the burn and stretch of being filled in both ways. At this point he thinks he’d let Jeremiah crawl inside of him if it meant he could stop feeling so _alone if_ he could reconcile his desire for the world’s hatred with his starvation for being needed.

Jeremiah would do it, he knows. He’d follow him until the ends of the earth and jump off the edge if Lelouch ordered it, finger-fucking his asshole while his cock fills his cunt is _nothing_. There’s a certain kind of power in that, a power that he likes, but a power that leaves him feeling emptier than he had before Jeremiah’s thick dick had stretched him wide.

Maybe he’s manipulative. Maybe he’s cruel.

Or maybe, he‘s lonely, and he likes the way Jeremiah fucks him.

“Tell me you love me,” he says, an order. A plea. Jeremiah shifts Lelouch’s weight so he can better support him with one hand, using the other to brush Lelouch’s hair back behind his ear. It’s a tender gesture, so different from Jeremiah’s usual cold callousness, so different from the lusty, cocksure hunger that had defined him kneeling at Lelouch’s feet.

“I love you, Majesty,” Jeremiah says as his movements slow, as he lets Lelouch squirm into place around his waist, cock stilling inside of him as something passes between them. Lelouch sighs. This is pathetic, and he knows it, but he’s past the point of feeling bad. He’ll be dead in a month and none of it will matter; not the fact that he has Suzaku’s understanding but not his forgiveness, the fact that his first friend and lover can’t bring himself to touch what’s essentially a walking corpse, an evil he’s been ordered to defeat. It won’t matter that he had to turn to the pompous, spoiled aristocrat-turned-assassin for the barest bit of physical affection and the chance at getting out of his own head and really, it doesn’t even matter now - all that matters is the fact that his thoughts are jumbled enough for him to relax enough to enjoy it, to lean against Jeremiah and use him.

“Lelouch,” Jeremiah says as he leans in and kisses him️ again, settling in softer this time, almost _chastely_ at the corner of his downturned mouth. “You don’t have to worry.”

He has to worry, for the sake of the world. He can’t afford to not worry, can’t afford to let his guard down even though Charles is dead and Schneizel is in a cell, and Jeremiah knows that.

But, he supposes he can pretend that he’s the type of person that’s afforded those luxuries for the period of time he’s pressed against Jeremiah’s muscular form. Jeremiah knows that, too. Maybe he’s always known it, and that’s why he’s stuck so close.

“Enough of that, Lord Jeremiah,” Lelouch says flippantly, lifting a hand from Jeremiah’s shoulder to brush his hand away, fingers adjusting the collar of his lover’s cloak as he rocks his hips as best he can. “Are you going to finish what you started? I’ve no room in my court for a man who can’t follow through.”

Jeremiah allows him his dignity, scoffing as he gets his hands under Lelouch once more and sets up their pace again.

“Anything for you, Majesty,” he says as he fucks him faster, _harder_ , practically bouncing Lelouch on his cock and leaving him feeling like a helpless doll in the man’s hands. There was a time that Lelouch could would have never imagined letting anyone but Suzaku have control of him like this, but those seem like the memories of someone else, vanishing in wisps of smoke for someone who’s now staring down the barrel of the proverbial gun. Someone lonely and desperate.

Lelouch’s orgasm rips through him violently, the whole encounter over too soon in hindsight and leaving him feeling emptier than before. The clench of him tugs Jeremiah over the edge, sending him driving up into Lelouch as he spills, filling the condom as he groans into Lelouch’s neck. With his world swimming back into focus, he’s now keenly aware of his own slick drying on his thighs, of the way his skin has been rubbed raw from scratching against Jeremiah’s cloak, but he’s also aware of the warmth of Jeremiah’s body, of how his arms hold him and wouldn’t let go, of how he can _feel_ his subordinate’s gaze on him, lovesick and reverent. Lelouch wonders if he’s more beautiful because he’s going to die. Burying his face into Jeremiah’s temple, he says “Put me down.”

Jeremiah sets him down on shaking legs, kneeling to hand him his discarded pants and boots, not meeting his eye as he tucks himself back into his pants and resumes his expected kneel, waiting for a dismissal. Lelouch’s cheeks are burning as he turns his back to him, slipping his pants back on and adjusting the tails of his cloak and his belt before flopping back down very undignified on his throne.

“Thank you - “he prefaces, shaking his head when it seems silly. What does one say in this situation? Thanks for the sex, you’re dismissed? Your emperor appreciates your loyalty? Distracted, he raises his foot tucked into its boot to the throne, knee against his chest as he tries to zip it. Jeremiah leans forward and does it for him, fingers deftly straightening the zipper as he smooths a wrinkle in Lelouch’s pant leg.

“Sir Kururugi will come around,” Jeremiah offers as he sits back on his heels, and Lelouch winces at the sound of Suzaku’s name. There was a time when he had entertained fantasies of that name as his own, the two of them in their perfect world in a home near the shrine, the storybook white picket fence. _Suzaku and Lelouch Kururugi._

“He loves you too strongly. Maybe he can’t bear the idea of the order you’ve given him.” Jeremiah continues.

“Thank you, Jeremiah.” Lelouch says, irritated. Exhausted. Sexually satisfied enough, but left alone with his thoughts again in a way that disappoints him. Then, softer: “Truly, I...do appreciate that, Jeremiah. I just...have a lot of thinking to do.”

“Come to bed.” he says, rising to his feet once more and holding a hand out to his emperor. “Some things are best left for the next day.” It’s a kind gesture, an offer of more sex, of comfort, of a night spent back to chest with someone muscular and warm. He doesn’t have to take it, could dismiss Lord Jeremiah with a wave of his hand. The offer is inconsequential - if he ordered the man to never speak of it again, he would listen. He doesn’t have to take the offer.

“Lelouch,” Jeremiah urges as his hand brushes Lelouch’s hair back once more from his face before resuming the outstretch of it before him. “You’re so good at taking care of tomorrow. Allow me to take care of you.”

Sighing, Lelouch takes his hand. Jeremiah’s steadfast loyalty has always been dearly needed.


End file.
